Lost
by R. Patil
Summary: After "Sozin's comet" Azula begins to recover.  This story examines why she would begin, and the long, tortuous road needed to heal.   Hopefully, it will be updated once a month-just being realistic.


_**Lost**_

_**Ch.1**_

_**By R. Patil**_

_**Standard Disclaimer: All Hail Mike & Brian, and may we forgive Shamalan's folly, though we musn't forget.**_

_**As always, the highest compliment is constructive criticism.**_

Azula took stock of her current situation. She was sitting in a theater. The warm, dimly lit reds were making her more comfortable than she'd been in a very long time. The light wood of the benches and handrails, the gold-painted accents… this place was familiar somehow. Looking around further, she noticed every seat was empty. Had they gone to see a play? Oh, she hoped it wasn't "Romance of the Dragons" again. Neither she nor Zuzu could stand it. Her brother felt they ruined the story, but she'd never thought it was worth the telling to begin with—it was about love, not conquest. But then shouldn't they all be sitting together? No—Father was conquering the world, Mother was banished, and Zuko was… well, none of them were here, anyway.

It was cool. Goosebumps rose as a chill settled on her, on the whole space. She saw lights on under the curtain, shadows playing back and forth. She was suddenly uncomfortable thinking about what was back there. She looked up, looked left and right, anywhere but at the curtain, and whatever was behind. But everywhere she looked, the theater was full of darkenss. It pressed on her like a wall, threatened to swallow her if she thought about it. So she looked forward again. Ahead and to her right was a person, a tall, thin, and bald man with dark skin. "Excuse me, but I don't think I'm supposed to be seeing this."

The stranger turned, looking at her with a gentle smile and a long, thick, white beard. "Oh my, but of course you are. Why else would you be here?" _Great, he thinks I don't know what theaters are for._

She looked at the curtain again, at the shadows. "No, I mean I don't _want_ to see this."

The strange man with a strange accent soothed "Perhaps. But you are here, nonetheless." He turned back toward the curtain as the last of the houselights dimmed. She steeled herself. She couldn't leave, and anyway whatever scared her about the play _wasn't_ as frightening as the heavy, empty darkness that was everywhere else. So, she would watch.

The curtain rose on an actor dressed like a guard. The cheap paper backdrop showed stone walls, and a wailing cry came from behind an exaggerated cell door at center. After a moment, another "guard" walked on from the right. He greeted: "Hey Kuai." The one standing still turned to acknowledge.

"Hi Lin"

"How's our guest today?"

"Crying, with occasional words here and there."

"Well, it's better than when she talks to herself."

"Oh, it's not to herself. It's to everyone else: her friends, her brother, her mom, her dad… Heck, I think sometimes she's talking to imaginary creatures. One time, I heard her mention something about a 'bear.'" He shook his head. "Weird, man."

More crying could be heard between their dialogue. Azula found it annoying, but not important, so she didn't let herself be distracted.

They continued, "But y'know what _really_ scares me is when she's quiet." The other shivered in agreement "Yeah, definitely. Quiet is scariest."

"I mean, who _knows_ what's going through her head at that point?"

"I dunno, the same thing that's been going through her head for the past year and change?"

"It's been that long?"

"Yup."

"Geez, you think she'd be tired by now."

"Well I am even if she's not. G'night, Lin."

"'Night, Kuai," and the old guard walked offstage, and the new guard took up post.

Twenty or so seconds passed, with the guard standing still and the crying filling the stage. _Well, if something doesn't change soon, I'll die of boredom, _Azula thought. At just that moment, the crying subsided, leaving only silence. A heavy, gaping silence, that made her nearly as uncomfortable as the actor/guard on stage. As another half-minute ticked away, he stayed still, then shifted his gaze around nervously. His hands tapped a shaky rhythm against his armor, and he began to whistle off-key to ward off his fear. As he took a breath, a new sound appeared; this time a low moan. The guard looked confused. Another, louder moan, and the man said to the audience "That's new." The woman's voice continued its sounds of… pain? No, it was more like an ache being massaged out, only deeper. When the voice's breath hitched, and then became a short, high cry, Azula realized it was meant to sound like gratification, not injury. _Oh, it's going to be one of _those_ plays. I thought Father outlawed these kinds of immoral things in public._ There was something familiar about this, though, and she found herself vaguely pitying the guard, who was now approaching the door.

"What's going on in there?" The moaning continued. "I mean it, what's—" his question was stopped by whatever he saw through the door's viewing-window.

"Please…please come in."

The guard's mouth moved a few times before words could actually make it out. "I, I can't. I'm.. I'm… on-duty." The funny man in front laughed a little at this, but not much.

"Please, I've been all by myself in here for soooo long. I won't tell." The guard looked doubtful, but considering. "And even if I did, I'm crazy. Who'd believe me?" His eyes opened wider at this, his libido overcoming his good sense, thanks to flimsy logic. He pulled the key from his belt, fumbled inexpertly with the lock, and opened the door. He turned toward the audience one last time, straightening himself up to look good for his immanent indiscretion, when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his forehead and chin, and twisted smartly. With a comical "snap" from somewhere offstage that sounded strangely like celery being broken, the guard's head snapped to the right, and he fell down "dead."

A young woman stood behind him. Her make up and hair gave her a very disheveled look. Bags stood out under her eyes, and dull, red, torn clothes showed a bit more of her than was decent. She quickly composed herself, pulling her robe closed again, standing fully erect, and tucking long strands of loose hair behind an ear. She looked not in the general direction of the audience, as the guard did, but this time directly at Azula, who still had an uncanny feeling of déjà vu. "He should have seen this coming, you know. They think I don't listen to them; talking, regaling stories of their recent, and most likely fictitious, conquests, or pining for some courtesan. I knew men were simple, but _really._" She began pulling the body behind the door. "I've been listening to them for months. I've heard it all; the end of the war, the fact that there are no more serious rebel groups for me to take over." The soles of the guard's feet vanished behind the wall. The woman stepped out again, the ring of keys in one hand and the guard's knife and belt on her waist. She closed and locked the door behind her before turning to look at Azula again. "So, I'm leaving for anyplace else. I had more fun traveling anyway. But first," she turned to her right and began slowly walking off stage, "I've got some business to take care of." As she vanished behind the far curtain, she said "Oh, daddy? Remember when you left me behind? Well, I couldn't _possibly_ do the same to you." A bright flash of red light from offstage showed a silhouette of a man writhing, and a male voice screamed in agony. As the light faded, the scream grew silent.

Azula must have been very tired, because she only caught impressions of what came next; the escapee committed to a life of daring and treachery, disrupting government business, building various gangs, like a pirate in the stories Uncle used to tell. Then the scene snapped back into focus; after years of cunning and, well, evil, the escapee had been cornered by several warriors. The fight was rather well choreographed, and even the effects were good; the earth moved believably with the short woman's movements, and the waterbending almost looked real. The fugitive distracted the airbender by lighting a huge portion of a town on fire; he would _have_ to let her go to save every man, woman, child, sparrowkeet, and trillipede. The short earth-bender used a steel door as armor, which the fugitive warmed up with a sustained stream of intense blue fire. _Blue fire and metalbending? They're certainly taking liberties with reality._ After a moment, the shorter character screamed, peeling the metal off herself and hurling it at her opponent. As the fugitive dodged, the earthbender stumbled away, covered in still-cooking flesh.

Someone else came from the opposite side of the stage; a firebender this time. Their fight was fierce, leaping and dodging, parry and counterstrike, moving to every point of the stage. The fugitive taunted her attacker. "Come now, aren't you going to try to save me? To convince me to give up my evil path and that it 'doesn't have to be this way?'"

His response was more labored—he was winded. "I realized you were beyond help when you killed your only friend." Something in Azula shivered and constricted.

"_She _betrayed _me_! I had no choice."

While they were talking, a woman in blue was positioning herself behind the fugitive, arms sleeved in water, preparing to attack. The female firebender continued the verbal sparring. "Oh, and one more thing you should take into account..." She prepared a blue fireball in one hand. "Water conducts lightning." She threw the fireball at her male attacker, throwing him to the floor as he dodged. Then she turned to the waterbender, making fast, small movements with her hands before firing a small bolt of lightning. It went straight for the water still touching the other woman's arms, where it danced brilliantly. The darker-skinned woman gave a choked scream before she fell to the floor, twitching limply. As the man rose to attack again, the fugitive reminded him "Capture me or get her to a healer, brother. You can't have both." After a tense moment, the man (_her brother?_) went to his ally's side, carrying her off stage right, while the cunning woman ran to the left. Her voice continued narrating the action from offstage. "Aaahhgg!" A pause. "You're _still_ using those knives? I thought you'd learn a new trick by now. Oh, come now, you _know_ you can't take me in an open fight. Why not go back to your weak-kneed husband. He might need help taking care of the water-witch." After another moment, she limped back onstage, knives sticking out of her thigh, and giggling to herself. "She is _too_ easy to read. Married six years, and she's still threatened by that one woman. Hehe…he… ooohhh. Dizzy. Did she…?" She pulled the knives out of her leg and gently licked the tip of one. "Hmm. She poisoned the tip." She smirked. "I guess she _did_ expand her horizons." She began to cross the stage when a man in blue entered from the opposite side. They regarded each other silently for a moment before she scoffed. "Hah! You're kidding, right?" He simply stood there, face unreadable. "A little anti-climactic, but alright." She shot a few fireballs, which he sidestepped easily. She was getting shaky. They stared at each other for another moment, and he then drew a black-bladed straight sword from his back. She giggled maliciously, then began the hand movements for lightning again.

Azula didn't want to see this. This whole play was… just… she didn't like it. She wanted to see something else. _Anything_ else.

The fugitive threw a lightning bolt at the swordsman. The bolt went straight for the black blade—and stayed there. The swordsman hadn't been electrocuted, his blade somehow containing the energy. He had caught the bolt with a defensive blade motion, and with an offensive move, the lightning discharged. She leaped out of the way, shocked because metal shouldn't be able to do that, and because nobody had ever shot lightning at _her_ before. As she recovered, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes.

_*Shupp*_

He'd run his sword through her chest, just to the left of center.

The fugitive didn't cry, didn't scream. She just looked up at him with a surprised, ironic smile. "Huh. Didn't think I had one of those." Then she reached behind his head and pulled him into a kiss. He was still holding the sword.

She pulled back to look at his surprised and _very_ confused expression before collapsing on the stage floor, sword and all.

The lights went down on stage again.

The house lights didn't come up.

But...that's the play. Shouldn't the lights come up again? Azula wanted to leave. The stupid morality play was over, so it was time to go, but the darkness was still back there, and that stupid bald man was still sitting so there _must_ be something else and oh no there were noises from the stage again. It wasn't over.

Cold. The whole theater had grown very cold, and Azula was sure she'd see her breath any moment.

The curtain rose on an abstract scene. That, or the set designer had just gotten lazy. The background might have been a stone wall of some kind, but it was hard to tell; a mist obscured the scene. The only other things filling the stage were a blue light and a low, mournful whistle, like a malicious wind. A figure stepped on stage.

It was the fugitive from before, her clothes again in tatters. She moved unsurely from side to side, holding her elbows and hunched over, as if she herself were cold. She moved from one side of the stage to the other, appearing lost and very, very alone. After a minute of shivering, a jut of blue flame popped up from somewhere upstage. The woman moved close to it and held her palms forward toward the fire. She paused a moment, then moved her hands closer. Another moment, and a look of confusion crossed her face. She took another cautious step closer to the flame, with the same result. Warily, she reached out to touch one of the rising tendrils, and upon contact, immediately pulled her fingers back with a cry of pain. As she gripped her wrist a laugh rose up from off stage. "Hehahahahahehe… No warmth here. Only cold and burn! Hehahahahehe! Cold and Burn!"

From the background some kind of grotesque demon puppet emerged. Like everything else on stage, it was blue thanks to the lighting. It's body and head were half the size of a person's, but its' arms, hands, and neck were nearly twice as long. Its' stub-like legs were tucked in a crouching position as it just hovered, held by the black-clad puppeteer. Though its' head was small with long, black, stringy hair, its' face was large, with a mouth in a grotesque grin around a pair of long fangs that curved to either side, and huge, bulging eyes. The woman turned to look at where the voice came from, but the demon vanished, reappearing behind her. "What's the matter? Are you lost?" Again it vanished before she could face it. "Try again!" The same result. This time, though, the demon didn't reappear immediately. It's voice echoed, though. "I believe your problem, miss… oh, excuse me_, my lady_… Your problem is things have always come so easily for you. Fighting, plotting, hurting everyone… you're a natural at all of it. You need to slow down, take stock of your situation. _Work_ for something for a change." She began backing up, toward the demon, who had reappeared behind her, with something in its' hands. It waited while she took the one… two… three steps before grabbing her wrists and placing something around them behind her back. Whatever it was closed with a double _clink_. Again, the demon vanished, showing up directly in front of her for a change.

For the first time since her death, the fugitive found her voice. "I will end you for treating me this way!"

This only earned her laughter. "Then come. End me, if you can. You need only catch me, first."

She moved toward the monster, but was immediately stopped. Her wrists weren't simply bound together, they were tethered to something behind her. She looked backwards, but there was only a long chain leading offstage. She surged forward again, and this time began making slow progress, step by labored step. Of course, the demon stayed just out of reach. "There you go. Ohhhoooh, you're _really_ gonna get me now. C'mon, show me the meaning of the word 'regret.'" This continued until they were both off stage, and it continued when they came back on stage, the chain still taut behind the woman. When they reached center stage, the demon paused. "You know, I thought that chain would be enough to challenge you, but you're just too determined. Hmm… wouldn't it make it more interesting if we…" At a gesture from the creature, the woman was surrounded by the blue, warmthless flames. She paused a moment, then the flash of fear on her face was replaced by renewed rage, and she plunged into the fire. She screamed with every step until she emerged on the other side. Once clear, she fell to her knees gasping for breath. The demon remained unimpressed. "You're right, a wall of fire has been done to death. I know!" At another wave of its' spindly hands, the entire stage erupted with the same cold fire, save for where the fugitive knelt.

She pressed forward anyway. This time, she didn't scream upon entering the flames.

The lights went down and up in succession after that; each time they went up, they showed the demon and woman somewhere else on stage, the demon still taunting her, the woman's chain growing and crisscrossing the stage, revealing her trail. A few scenes of this painful montage came and went briefly, until the lights came up to show the woman fallen, tangled in her own chain and surrounded by fire. She did not move. The demon stopped its' constant retreat from her. "Hnn?" It gazed at her, interested. "Oh, don't tell me that's all you've got." It waited a beat, and when no response came, it moved closer. "You're really _that_ worthless? No wonder nobody ever loved you." Still no movement. The creature gave an aggravated sigh and roll of its' head. "Really? I mean it's not like anything here can _kill_ you, so quit being such a wimp." It moved closer, began inspecting the fallen woman. It poked her. When that failed it prodded her. When prodding failed, it bit her. When biting failed, it molested her. Still, she remained unmoving, unflinching, quiet. The demon became frustrated. "I'm running out of suffering to dole out, here." It turned toward the audience, "What now?" It's back was to the woman.

Oops.

Her hands and a few lengths of the chain had wrapped around her tormentor's long, gangly neck. "Now we see how you _bear_ suffering." She'd gotten her hands in front of her, somehow. She took the creature's head and buried it in a nearby jut of fire.

It screamed in agony. "AAAAAAHHHH! NO! NO, STOP IT! AH! AH! AAAAAHHHHhahahahaha. AAAahhahahahahaha! Stop it! Stop it, that tickles! Hahahahahaha."

She pulled the now-guffawing demon back out, a look of disgust on her face. The grotesque face began explaining "What, you think I'd be working in a field of fire that could actually burn _me_?"

"Good point," the woman conceded, and then drove the creature to the ground, her foot pining its neck down while her hands pulled the head upward. "Now tell me how to get out of here!"

"*Hhrrrk* You-hrg- you don't. That's the kind of the point."

"Where's everyone else? Surely I'm not the only person who deserves to be here?"

"It's different for everyone. Different sections. Some people suffer in groups. You suffer the most alone, so you got to be alone."

"So you've been to the other sections?"

"Yeah."

"Then I can get to them, too." She pulled up and, after a moment of struggle, the demon's head came off. She turned the now silent face towards her. "I thought _that_ might work." The flames died down, and the chain broke at her wrists. She was about to throw the head away, but changed her mind, and slung it over her shoulder by the long, stringy hair. She also picked up a good length of the chain, wrapping it around her forearm and over her other shoulder. "Let's go exploring." And she exited stage left.

Another montage, this time of her rampage through hell. She strung up a fat demon with her chain in a gold setting. She drove a spear through several reptilian demons, pinning them to a wall before decapitating each of them with one of their knives. She threw a demon with long blades protruding from his arms and a wide, toothy grin into some kind of mechanism located just off-stage, and was rewarded when the stage was drenched in a spray of blood and gore. With each victory she gained a new piece of clothing or weapon, each item looking like a body part or the skin from a fallen enemy. Scene after scene of struggle, torture, and brutal victory played on stage.

Finally, silence. Stillness. The lights onstage came up, an empty blue background framing a terrible scene in red; a pile of bodies rose eight feet high, each was a slaughtered demon. Some were reduced to bone, some still leaked ichor. Atop the pile sat a short backless stone bench or seat. The woman emerged from the right side of the stage, after the audience had enough time to truly appreciate the gruesome sight. A large, horned head was cradled in her left arm. She pulled a red stone from its' forehead, and placed it on her own. She discarded the body part absent-mindedly.

She turned toward the corpse hill, but stopped and looked off to the left side of the theater. "Who's there?" She took a defensive posture.

A calm, scratchy voice replied "Someone who has no intention of fighting you." A mellow, white spotlight came up on the figure of an old man in plain pale robes. He was short, and broad, and had a short beard that Azula found familiar.

"Huh. I didn't expect to see _you_ here."

"I couldn't think of another way to congratulate you on your… accomplishment, except in person."

"Still impressed that my knack for conquest so far exceeds yours?"

"You are remarkable, yes."

She paused at this, a little uncertain, then regained her composure. "Why does every compliment from you feel back-handed?"

"Because you know that what I value is not what you value."

"Hmm, point. Oh well, I'll take whatever conversation I can get. I haven't seen a single other person here, though I've been _everywhere_. I thought a lot of people came here after they died."

"Many people did. They were here, before. You just couldn't see them, or hear them, or touch them."

"What, souls are invisible to other souls?"

"No, they were invisible to _you_. In life, other people were not real to you. They were objects, a means to your ends, but never your equals, your fellow-beings. And now, they are even less real. You couldn't see others before. That simply carried over."

"More of your touchy-feely prattle. Whatever. You said they were here before, which implies they aren't here now. What happened?"

"Your takeover has caused quite a stir. A new, similar realm was set up, and the souls that were trapped here were moved there."

"Set up? Moved? By whom?"

"By those far greater then ourselves."

"Stop speaking in riddles!"

"It's no riddle. Names don't mean so much here. There are beings beyond our power, and beyond our understanding, some _far_ beyond. Names don't really work."

She exhaled in frustration before she continued. "So, I take over Hell, and rather than let me have everyone in it, the gods or powers or whatever simply make a new Hell and move everyone over there?"

"In a nutshell, yes."

"Well, then I'll simply take over _that_ one, too. Or I can invade the gods' home." A glint sprang up in the woman's eye. "Yes, I'll extend my empire to every corner of the spirit world! Heaven! Hell! Life! Death! All will bow to me!"

The visitor rudely interrupted her growing rant. "That's the other thing I came to tell you about."

"What other thing?"

"As I said, your actions have gained the attention of many beings. And it's prompted action on their part."

"…I'm listening."

"There are spirits of creation and destruction, of suffering and of succor. The abyss is a fragile shade of something far more horrific, and the great truth we call love is only a fragment of something far more nourishing and all-encompassing. All of these have their natural place, their position in the cosmic balance." The woman rolled her eyes. "But you have upset that balance. You threaten not only the spirit world, but that which lies beyond. No being, good or evil, is willing to allow that imbalance to grow. And so, before you can put any other at risk, this realm is being sealed away."

"What, the gods are threatened, so they're locking me in? I'll break out, and make them _suffer_."

"The gods, the demons, the things beyond them. And it's not 'locking in.' It's 'cutting off.' You, and this world, are being removed from the cosmos."

The woman looked furious now. "Then I will find a way to re-join it!"

"Look around. You've killed everyone that might have the knowledge to help you. You are being sealed away by powers far greater than you can comprehend."

"Then I will keep _you_ here to help me." She lunged at the figure, but she passed right through him.

"I don't belong in this world. I'm just as much a ghost here as if I were to return to the world of the living."

"So, you're just a shadow, a weak echo who's come to gloat over my imprisonment?"

"No. I am an uncle who's come to say 'Goodbye,-'"

"Goodbye, then!"

"—and that you will always be loved."

"I don't _need_ your love, I have my power. My empire."

The spotlight on the gentle man faded. As she continued her now-monologue, the woman ascended the corpse hill to sit on her throne. "You speak of love, of realms beyond me. Foolishness! Nothing is beyond me! I've outgrown love, conquered fear. I have no need of other realms." The red lights dimmed, reducing the foreground and actress to darkness. "I rule this world! I ALONE!"

She sat, a black silhouette in an endless blue background.

A small voice whispered, almost crying,

"…_alone…"_

Azula's eyes snapped open. She felt her pillow, wet with sweat and tears. Her body ached, and she shivered. Her cell was dark, lit only by the full, pale moon. She slowly stood up and removed her sweat-soaked clothes. She walked toward the middle of the room, picking the blanket up from the floor and wrapping it around herself. She stood in the moonlight, quietly reveling in something gentle.

After a minute, she walked to the basin of water. She felt a momentary pang of fear that the liquid would leap out at her and drown her, but her thirst was stronger. The twinge of fear stayed, so she just drank through it.

Finally, she went to the door. "Guard." The man outside the door didn't turn. They'd gotten used to ignoring her. Their only job was to ensure she didn't kill herself or burn the whole place down. "Guard?" Still no response.

"Kuei?" This time, the guard turned, surprised she knew his name.

"I'd like to speak to Firelord Zuko."


End file.
